


A Day In The Life; December 21, 2020

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: Ineffable Outliers Weekly Prompts [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 07:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: A day in the life of a certain angel and demon, a little over a year after the failed apocalypse.  Featuring a visit to a coffee shop and a visit to a little Greek restaurant called the Olive Grove.





	A Day In The Life; December 21, 2020

**Author's Note:**

> Another Ineffable Outliers weekly prompt fill! 
> 
> This week's prompt was: It's a typical, mundane Post-End of the World day for any set of Gomens characters. How does this nice slice of life day go for them? How do the characters react to each other doing everyday trivialities such as washing dishes, gardening, shopping/running errands, etc. etc. Try to focus on the little things in life!
> 
> This story features characters from The Broadgate Tower Coffeeshop and Lost and Found, but you don't have to read those to understand what's going on here.

**10:17AM**

Crowley _ almost _ didn’t like coming back to this place.

Sure, the coffee was great (large black, two sugars, every time, without him asking), and the baristas were some of the best in London (their sarcastic attitudes being a bonus, not a drawback), but the location. Well, the location left a lot to be desired.

Because _ this _ particular coffee shop was in Broadgate Tower. Main Earth location of the head offices of Heaven and Hell.

Not people he particularly wanted to be around these days.

Sure, they had formed a _ tenuous _ partnership with their former offices. Turns out, nobody upstairs or down knew jack shit about how things work on Earth. So now, they freelance. Sometimes the old Arrangement even kicks in, and Hell will (reluctantly) hire Aziraphale for a temptation or Heaven will (reluctantly) hire Crowley for a blessing.

Kind of ironic, in that Alanis Morissette kind of way.

They’d just come from one such meeting, Heaven was hiring the both of them for some minor blessings in Wales next week. Something to do with a charity soccer game or something, Crowley never paid much attention. Spent too much time glaring at Gabriel to listen to him. He’d really just wanted to get the heav-hel-WHATEVER out of there and go get his angel some lunch, but the silly featherhead wanted cocoa.

_Oh, but dearest, they make the best cocoa here at the towers_, Aziraphale had said, practically bouncing, _they have the tiny little marshmallows I love and everythin_g!

That’s where the ‘almost’ came in. As anyone who knew them would gladly tell you, Crowley was powerless to resist any request from his angel. 

Hand in hand in a line full of business suits to get some much-needed warmth for this December chill. He recognized a couple of the baristas1; Rose had really come into her own, was one of the best of them by now. She was working register today; Jisel was making the drinks. Couple of new faces here and there.

One would probably expect Aziraphale to know everyone by name, it came across through his sunny disposition. Sometimes, especially mundane times like this, Crowley would be struck by just how _ ridiculously _ in love with this fussy angel he was.

Sure, they were married now. Even their former bosses knew that had happened2. But seeing the angel’s eyes light up over his favorite cocoa from his favorite coffee shop was almost a religious experience for the demon. Or how he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand right now that the angel would squeeze back without hesitating and turn and give Crowley that soft little smile that was reserved just for him.

He tested that theory. _Squeeze the hand, he squeezes back, and there’s the smile I love so much._

It was all unbearably sentimental. Made his insides feel all gooey. Unbecoming for a demon. Not that he gave a toss about that anymore.

“Hullo Mr. Crowley; Mr. Fell,” said Rose, now masterful at the register, “Same as always for today?”

“Yes, of course my dear,” Aziraphale said brightly, “With– ”

“Extra marshmallows, of course.” Rose smiled at them and Crowley could already _ feel _ Aziraphale blessing the rest of the baristas’ day.

Rose handed Crowley his coffee and they moved along to the end of the counter to wait for Aziraphale’s cocoa; leaning against the bar top with their shoulders touching. It was ridiculous how something so small made Crowley want to melt into a puddle of snake on the floor and slither off someplace secluded to scream and blush in peace, dammit.

Aziraphale sighed, “You know, Darling, it might not be the _ best _ idea, but in some small way I’m glad we’re freelancing now.”

“You just wanted to keep getting your cocoa, Angel,” Crowley said, bumping his shoulder into the angel’s, “which really, you could do anywhere.”

“Oh, but it just isn’t the same, Dearest.” Always with the pet names. It had taken Crowley quite a while to get used to them, felt like there was a new one every day and he couldn’t keep up. Every single one was infused with so much love and devotion they nearly knocked him off his feet.

“If I’m being honest, it’s the marshmallows,” the angel said wistfully, smiling at a memory, “Remember when we went back to Paris, after the Reign was over? And we found that quaint little candy shop and they were selling marshmallows there? I swear the marshmallows here taste _ exactly _ the same as those.”

“They’re probably just some megamart brand that you haven’t tried yet.”

“I-well, I never...A _ megamart _, Dearest?” The angel stammered, “As though I’d ever. The sheer thought-“

“I’m only teasing you, Love,” Crowley said before leaning over and planting a kiss on the angel’s cheek, “You do get so cute when you’re full of that self-righteous fury.”

That earned him an eye roll. He knew what he had to do for these little reactions he so loved 3 . 

Little reactions he never thought he’d have. For the longest time, Aziraphale had been just a little too far from his reach, and just a little too in Heaven’s grasp. The angel had held Crowley’s twisted dark heart in his hands ever since that first day on the wall of Eden. Six thousand years of stolen glances, stolen time; lunches here, drinks there. Always, the forefront of his mind screaming _ please, please, just stay a little longer, a few more minutes and maybe I’ll finally get past all this emotion that’s eating me from the inside out _.

Then the apocalypse didn’t happen. Then they were together, like it was the easiest decision in the world. 

He’d still had his issues, to be sure. Not thinking he was good enough, not thinking Aziraphale would want to stay with him once he saw what a mess Crowley could actually be when he wasn’t putting up the cool façade. But the angel had stayed, had chosen him over everything and everyone else. And now they were married.

He liked to tumble that word around in his head sometimes. He did now, as he gazed lovingly (gross) at his husband (_ husband?! _) as the angel prattled on about this or that to Jisel while she made his cocoa.

A commotion broke him out of his reverie.

“What do you _ mean _ my coffee is £3.80? It was £3.40 last week!”

“I do apologize, sir,” Rose stammered from behind the register, Crowley was already on alert, ready to intervene, “But the tower management raised the prices a couple of days ago.”

“_ Bullshit _, don’t you know who I am?” the man shouted, Rose looked like she might faint. Crowley was about to say something, but Aziraphale beat him to it.

The angel had stood up and walked back to the register and was now addressing the customer directly, while Jisel handed his cocoa to Crowley.

“My dear fellow, I do believe you’ve forgotten to do something very important today.”

“I have?” the man asked, confused.

“Yes, I believe you said something about an…anniversary, maybe?” Aziraphale says, with a bit of miraculous intent.

The man goes pale, “Oh no, I forgot, I don’t have anything for her!”

“Well, I’d suggest you get a bit of a wiggle-on then, hmm?” Aziraphale said, with what Crowley could only describe as a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

“Yes,” the man stammered, “Yes, I-I suppose I should. Thank you.”

The man left without getting his coffee.

Crowley caught up to his husband, “Come on then, Angel, did your good deed for the day?”

“No rest for the good,” the angel smirked at him, “As it were.”

It was about this time that the man slipped and fell on a freshly mopped floor, sign conveniently missing, but now appearing out of thin air. His phone flew out of his hand and the screen shattered.

Aziraphale was practically giggly.

Crowley just stared at his angel, ever surprised by him to this day. Six thousand years doing nothing to dampen that affection.

_ That’s my Angel _ , he thought to himself, _ just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. _

\---

**1:34 PM**

There weren’t many things in this world that Aziraphale loved more than a nice hole-in-the-wall family restaurant 4 .

The feelings of love that emanated from them were nearly intoxicating. As an angel, a being drawn to love, he gravitated to these establishments. Passed down from generation to generation, some further back than others. This one was a particular favorite, for more reasons than one.

“_ EAT! _”

“I already told you, Yaya, I’m _not_ _hungry_,” Crowley told her for the fifteenth time since they had sat down.

It was always this way here at the Olive Grove. Yaya thought Crowley was too skinny, she wanted him to eat. Crowley didn’t like eating, so he didn’t want to 5 .

All Aziraphale could do was stare from across the table and giggle. This was his favorite part of coming here, after all. Crowley may pretend to have a devil-may-care attitude, but the angel knew deep down that wasn’t the case.

Crowley would never admit it out loud, but he had a certain love for Yaya of his own. One that was misplaced by a Mother many, many eons ago. There’s a lot to be said for taking care of someone.

Not that any of that prevented Yaya from smacking Crowley’s hand with a wooden spoon as he reached for his phone instead of a fork.

“_ EAT! _”

“Ok, alright, _ fine _, I’m eating,” Crowley grumbled as he picked up the fork. Satisfied with the results, Yaya gave them both a smile and returned to her own work.

“You know, love, she’s only looking out for you,” the angel said between giggles. He couldn’t help it; it was always funny to see Crowley embarrassed.

“Doesn’t bloody need to, crazy old bat.”

Despite whatever thoughts Crowley had on crazy old people, bat or otherwise, he was digging rather quickly into the moussaka she had brought him.

Crowley was always a surprise, even after all this time. Aziraphale knew his husband had a soft heart underneath that bluster and bravado. Demons didn’t do things like sing the (alleged) Antichrist to sleep. Or stowaway children on the ark. Or save books of prophecy for dithering angels who might forget about them. Or go for lunches at the Ritz and picnics in the park.

But his demon did, and oh how Aziraphale knew how lucky he was.

He’d given Crowley a million reasons to give up on him through the years. Calling their friendship ‘fraternizing’, pushing him away when all he wanted to do was pull the demon closer. That last day before Armageddon was the worst. Aziraphale still had nightmares. Of Alpha Centauri and holy water and bathtubs.

But Crowley was always there when Aziraphale would wake from these, holding him and comforting him. Crowley has nightmares of his own, the angel knows. Of bookshops and sulfur and bandstands.

Bandstands. After that day, Aziraphale truly thought he’d lost Crowley for good. How could he have said something so mean._ I don’t even like you!_ The furthest thing from the truth he ever could have said. Fear can make someone do things they wouldn’t, angels are no exception.

Aziraphale props his chin on his hand and looks at Crowley, who is now loudly complaining that no little old bat in a hole-in-the-wall Greek place can tell _ him _ what to do (he’s finished the moussaka and moved on to the dolmas at this point). All the angel can do is sigh. 

Almost a century ago, when the angel had felt their fingers brush over a leather satchel of books in the burning wreckage of a church, he knew that the thing he’d been repressing had a name. A very familiar one at that. He tried to keep it at bay for so long, but it all came bubbling over after lunch at the Ritz following Armageddon. They had been walking and their hands were so very, _ very _ close. Almost touching with every step they took. Crowley rarely, if ever, had his hands out of his pockets and Aziraphale tended to flip back and forth between worrying his in front of him and having them behind his back. He’d seen the chance and took it.

And on they had walked, hand in hand, fitting together like missing puzzle pieces. They didn’t look at each other or speak, both afraid that they might ruin the moment. 

They made it three steps into the bookshop before giving up and kissing each other senseless, no time for talking then, that would come later. In hushed breaths and soft spoken I-love-you’s that had waited for far too many centuries to be spoken into the world.

He’d spent some time at the beginning absolutely terrified. To him, Crowley was so vibrant and he always seemed to be running on all cylinders. Aziraphale had been afraid, when it came right down to it, that one day Crowley would wake up and realize just how _ boring _ he really was. Sure, Crowley had always teased him about his fashion and his books among other things but being together in this capacity was so different. So new and fresh. Aziraphale was scared he couldn’t live up to the expectations of 6000 years of want.

But here they were, on their own side. With the rings on their fingers to prove it. He can’t help but stare. Crowley’s been growing his hair out long again, and it’s almost to his shoulders now. It catches the light and is reminiscent of the copper pots that hang as decoration on the walls. He’s gesticulating wildly to go with whatever nonsense he’s decided to complain about now, and Aziraphale traces the motion, focused on the gold ring that looks like wings on Crowley’s finger. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there staring when Crowley stops ranting and leans in to kiss him gently, breaking him from his self-imposed trance.

“See something you like, Angel?” the demon says with a twitch of that mischievous smile. The one that he saves for Aziraphale, without the demonic intent behind it.

Which doesn’t change what that smile means for later. But Aziraphale knows how his demon’s mind works.

“Just admiring the most beautiful person in this restaurant, dearest,” and if Aziraphale is right, what comes next is– 

“Ngk.”

Yes, just as he thought. He reaches across the table and takes his husband’s hand, “You do realize you’ve almost made your way through three plates while complaining about Yaya’s concern for you.”

“Well…I…ngk…uh…” the demon stammers, trying to come up with a bad reason to eat the food that Yaya gives him, “Well…um…the thing is. The _thing_ is..”

Aziraphale lets him work through it as he eats his spanakopita and drinks his wine.

“The thing is, Angel, if Yaya keeps giving me this food…that’s less for the paying customers…then business goes under…and then the restaurant closes! See? Perfectly evil of me!” Crowley smiles smugly and takes a drink of his own wine.

“Except we _ do _ pay for our food here, if anything we’re helping the business, so that line is out my dearest.”

“Well…well…uhm…”

Aziraphale loves flustering Crowley this way, it’s always so easy to do and always good for a show. 

“Sometimes you can be quite _ nice _ my dear.”

“Shaddap,” Crowley says, sulking into his chair. The demon looks over to where Yaya is taking an order and she gives him a pointed look.

“Dearest, best eat up, you know she’ll insist on you having the baklava before she lets you leave.”

“Well,” Crowley says quickly and almost inaudibly, “Be rude to let it go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

_ There’s my demon _ , Aziraphale thought to himself, sipping his wine and smiling, _ just a little bit a good person, whether he admits it or not. _

\---

**7:23 PM**

In a little flat above a bookshop in Soho, and angel and a demon are watching TV.

Well, they _ were _ watching TV. They’d started out with Crowley resting his head in Aziraphale’s lap while the angel carded his fingers through the demon’s hair. But then Crowley had stilled the angel’s hand to kiss his wrist. Which of course meant that Aziraphale had brought Crowley’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. Which led to the demon leaning up to kiss along the angel’s jawline, and that’s how we ended up here.

Snogging on the couch while they were intending to watch TV.

A typical Monday spent the typical ways. The sun sets, and the calendar turns a page. There will be more Mondays, more Decembers. More coffee shops and little Greek restaurants. More anniversaries and holidays. More interrupted TV shows to go with interrupted morning crossword puzzles, because what can hold a candle to love? What else does anyone need?

Let us retreat and give them their privacy. They deserve it after so long being watched by Heaven and Hell alike. They don’t need to be watched by us as well.

Let us draw these curtains and slip away, and as we do, think of love. Love everlasting and love unconditional. Love that waits and is waited for. A love that is patient, and a love that is kind.

\---

1 \- Crowley made a habit of remembering his favorite baristas. If that happened to be most of them, you couldn’t really blame him.

2 \- There wasn’t an official ceremony, as it were, they just exchanged their rings in the park while book-girl took pictures from a bush. But as there had been witnesses (one purple-eyed intrusive spy from Heaven, and one very buzzy spy from Hell) it had been considered official and they had been given rounds of forced congratulations when they got called in for the next freelance assignment.

3 – And if one of these things was a minor miracle that ensured the shop always had those lovely little marshmallows from France when Aziraphale was there, who was anyone to judge? 

4 – There were three. The Ritz (too many good memories), Books (too many good stories), and Crowley (there’s not enough space in the footnotes to get into why the demon ranks at the top. Perhaps there’s a place with copious amounts of stories at the push of a button that could give you a few examples, hmm?)

5 – Crowley and Yaya had done this back and forth since the first visit. Crowley knows Yaya barely speaks English, and Yaya knows that Crowley doesn’t like to be told what to do. Neither of these things stop either of them. They both love it.

**Author's Note:**

> As always come scream with me on Tumblr, where I'm also MovesLikeBucky!


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